


Cross That Bridge (When We Come To It)

by Nary



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Army, Asexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hand Jobs, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Minor Character Death, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ralf was sure he was going to die.  He'd been fairly sure he was going to die ever since he'd been sent on this mission, and a slightly lesser degree of sure he was going to die from the minute he found out he was being shipped out to Psyra.  Now that he was lying alone in a cave with a broken ankle and a lesser assortment of cuts and scrapes that were bleeding all over the place, and there were Psyrene soldiers roaming around outside looking for him, it seemed pretty much guaranteed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross That Bridge (When We Come To It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Measured_Words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/gifts).



Ralf was sure he was going to die. He'd been fairly sure he was going to die ever since he'd been sent on this mission, and a slightly lesser degree of sure he was going to die from the minute he found out he was being shipped out to Psyra. Now that he was lying alone in a cave with a broken ankle and a lesser assortment of cuts and scrapes that were bleeding all over the place, and there were Psyrene soldiers roaming around outside looking for him, it seemed pretty much guaranteed.

They were supposed to be crossing the Arvelen river, to relieve a platoon who were hemmed in by Psyrene forces. But that morning, they'd heard word that there were slicks in the area. Lieutenant Cairvelle had sent out a scouting party - two sorcs who were good at the sneaking and spying stuff, Desmey and Flyn, with Ralf as the muscle in case they got into trouble. Ralf still thought it was weird that around here, he was considered 'muscle' - he was quick with a knife, but scrawny and far from strong. But compared to the sorcs, he could hold his own in a hand-to-hand fight, and he knew how to be quiet, which was good for jobs like this. He supposed he wasn't quite as scrawny as he used to be, either, since the army were more dedicated to feeding him three times a day than his parents had ever been.

It had been going pretty well at first. They'd spotted a platoon, or whatever the slicks called that number of troops, on the other side of the Arvelen river, doing something with the old stone bridge that crossed it. Desmey cast some spell to let her see better, trying to figure out what exactly the Psyrenes were up to, and that's when it all went to shit. Ralf didn't know how they spotted them - whether it was some magic crap, or whether they just had better lookouts - but clearly they did, because they started shooting. Flyn caught a bullet as they were running away. Ralf saw him drop mid-stride as he was dodging into the trees. He wasn't sure if the sorc was dead or not, and he didn't have time to stop and check. He thought Desmey got away, but they got separated and he couldn't be sure. 

After running for ages, he lost track of where he was - the trees all looked the same. At some point he must have gotten turned around, because he came back to the river, but further downstream, at a spot where the bank was high and rocky, dropping sharply off towards the water. Well, either he'd turned or the river had - the voided thing was twistier than any street in the Shambles. He took a minute to breathe and drink some water from his canteen, and tried to reorient himself so he could make it back to camp.

At that moment, he heard a rustling in the brush behind him. For a moment he thought it might be Desmey, and he turned around hoping to see her there, but his luck wasn't nearly that good. Instead of the frizzy-haired sorc, it was a pair of slicks, shouting and aiming guns at him. He figured they were probably telling him to surrender. He thought for a second about going for his gun, but he was pretty sure that if he did that, he was going to get shot himself. He was fast, but they already had their weapons trained on him. He put his hands up. 

They came cautiously closer, one keeping her gun aimed at his head while the other went to take him by the arm. That guy was in for a surprise. Technically, Ralf's knives weren't authorized weapons - they were his own, not ones he'd been issued. Ander had told him to keep them though, once he'd found out Ralf had them and knew how to use them, and since he was the second lieutenant, Ralf figured it was okay. He flexed his wrist sharply to bring out the blade on his left forearm, and slashed the one trying to restrain him across the throat, while at the same time trying to dive out of the way of the bullet he knew was going to follow. 

His plan half-worked. The soldier he'd knifed fell back, blood spurting everywhere, and the other one's shot went wide. Unfortunately, when he threw himself to one side, Ralf neglected to take account of the steep drop-off only a few feet away. He felt a sickening terror when suddenly the ground wasn't there anymore, and then he was crashing down the side of the cliff. Spindly, spiny brush was the only thing to break his fall, and it did its own damage in the form of cuts and scrapes as he tried to grab hold and slow his descent. About the only good part was that he didn't end up in the river, but crumpled in a pile in among some large rocks just at the edge of the bank.

Dazed, he looked up the twenty or so feet he'd fallen, just in time to see the Psyrene girl looking back at him over the edge of the cliff. She seemed as surprised to see him alive as he felt to be alive. He saw her take aim, and barely had time to try and scramble out of the way behind the boulders. A shot was fired and he felt something sear along his cheek, but he didn't have time to dwell on that. He crept as close to the edge of the cliff as he could, keeping under cover, hoping she wouldn't be able to see him from there and wouldn't come down the cliff after him. 

The crawling hurt more the further he went. His left ankle didn't seem to be working right - every time he tried to put any pressure on it, it made him want to scream. There was also quite a lot of blood, although he wasn't sure how much of that was his own and how much was from the guy he'd stabbed. He didn't think he was being followed anymore, but he also wanted to get as far away as possible from any slicks before he collapsed. 

He didn't quite believe his luck when he spotted the cave. It was just an opening maybe three, four feet wide in the rocky side of the cliff, but he knew he could make it there, and that it would give him enough shelter to conceal him from the slicks, if they were even still following him. It was probably full of bats - it had a sort of musty, damp smell, but at least it didn't seem to be the den of anything larger. Besides, it wasn't like he had much choice. He scrambled towards it as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast, and soon made it into the dark entrance. It opened up more inside, giving him enough room to lie down even if it was cramped.

After that, he thought he might have passed out for a while. When he came to, lying on the cold ground, his mouth tasted like blood and when he tried to move, everything hurt. He tried to flex his ankle and couldn't entirely bite back a cry. It was swollen and throbbing, and he thought it was probably broken. Even if it was 'only' a bad sprain, he knew there was no way he could walk on it for any length of time. The graze on his face stung like he'd been branded, and the cuts and scrapes on his hands hurt like a son of a bitch. Otherwise, he thought his other injuries were mostly bruising from where he'd fallen, all along his left side, but nothing else broken. The blood that had soaked his sleeve had dried to a crusty stiffness, so he guessed at least an hour or two had probably passed. All he could hear outside was the steady gurgling of the river, thankfully - no signs of pursuit, although the slight dampness of the ground made him wonder if the river ever rose high enough to flood this cave. It would be just bloody typical of his luck if it did, he thought, closing his eyes again.

He lay there miserably, wondering if they would send a search party for him or just assume he was dead. He wondered whether Desmey had made it back to camp or not. He wondered how long it would take him to die if he didn't get rescued, or whether the Psyrenes would find him first, and which would be worse. He thought about home, about his sisters and whether he would ever see them again, or whether they'd just get one of those 'missing in action' telegrams. He went over things he wished he'd said, or wished he hadn't said, girls he'd fucked, or shouldn't have fucked, or wished he'd had the chance to fuck. It was a distraction, at least - a really depressing distraction, but better than lying there waiting to die.

A shadow darkened the entrance of the cave. He turned his head, trying to tell who it was, but he couldn't see. "He's in here," the person called, and two others joined him, peering inside. Ralf knew the voice, and surprise and relief washed over him. Ander hadn't just sent a rescue party - he'd come himself. 

"Well, you sure did a number on yourself," said Ander, coming to kneel beside him, setting down a first aid kit. "Let's see the damage."

"Desmey..." Ralf managed to croak. 

"She made it back," Ander told him as he felt his arms and legs to see if anything made him scream. "No sign of Flyn though."

"He got shot," Ralf said. "I dunno if he's dead, or if they caught him..."

"Don't worry 'bout that now," Ander said calmly. "We found you, and we're gonna get you back to camp as soon as we can."

"How'd you find me?" Ralf asked, between winces as Ander's fingers probed particularly sore spots. 

"Scent," Ander muttered. It was one of those things non-Rats never quite understood - in fact, Ralf was pretty sure the two other soldiers were making disgusted faces about it behind Ander's back. He guessed that the idea of tracking someone by how they smelled was weird when you weren't used to it, but it made perfect sense to him. 

"You're covered in blood," Ander added, "so I wasn't sure it was you until I saw you." He put his fingers lightly to the graze on Ralf's cheek, and Ralf flinched. "Gotta clean that," Ander said, looking away for the antiseptic in his kit. Ralf had an odd feeling that Ander had been about to say something else, and had changed his mind because the others were there.

Ander got his ankle splinted, a process that just about caused him to black out again, and wrapped it tightly with bandages. "Don't you have a healing potion?" Ralf grumbled when he could speak without screaming again.

"We do," Ander admitted, "but we're under orders not to use them except as a last resort. We don't have enough to spare for things like busted ankles. Once we get you back to camp, Reinhart can heal you up," he added, naming the platoon's medic. 

"Ow! Fuck last resort, Ander," he snapped, before remembering he wasn't supposed to call him by his first name in front of other people. "Sorry. Lieutenant."

From somewhere in the distance there was a loud, rumbling explosion, and for a second all Ralf could think was that he was glad it would distract them from his fuck-up. Then he realized what it must be. "The bridge," he shouted over the echoes. "They were doin' something to it - must've blown it up!"

Ander cursed. "Stadler, Lizée, go check it out, and report back on what you find to Lieutenant Cairvelle. I'll stay here with Enderlen, make sure he's okay. Come back for us when you can, or send someone else if you need to - we'll be fine for now. And take this, in case you find Flyn while you're scouting," he added, passing them a small bottle from his kit. Ralf sighed as he recognized a healing potion being given away. The other two gave a quick salute and left. 

Sitting back against the wall of the cave, Ander let out a deep breath. "Looks like we're stuck here for a while."

Ralf shot him a look. "Yeah. So, what were you really gonna say?"

"I... just that I was glad it was you we found," the lieutenant muttered. "I know I shouldn't have favourites... and I'd have been glad if it was Flyn too. But... when I saw it was you, I felt like my heart was gonna drop out through my stomach."

"I can see why you didn't say that in front of them," Ralf said dryly, but it made him feel sort of shaky too, remembering how it had felt when he realized that it was Ander standing there - that Ander had come to save him.

"Yeah, well. Shut up for a minute and lemme clean that wound on your face," Ander told him. "That's a nasty one, I don't want it to get infected." With surprising gentleness he helped Ralf move, sliding his head into his lap so he could get a better look at what he was doing. The antiseptic stung almost as much as the initial graze had, and Ander had to hold his head still so he wouldn't try and jerk away while it was being cleaned. After it was on, though, it seemed to have a numbing effect, and it didn't hurt nearly so much.

"It'll probably scar," Ander said after he'd finished. "Maybe not too badly, depending on when we make it back to camp and you can get some proper healing and not just my half-assed efforts." He didn't move to get out from under Ralf, though, but stayed there for a bit, stroking his short-cropped hair with one hand, until he seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped.

"It's okay," Ralf told him. "Kinda nice." 

Ander paused, as if he didn't quite know what to say. "You wanna drink?" he asked after a moment's awkward silence. 

"Sure, why not?" It hardly seemed to matter at this point, and it wasn't like he was going to get in trouble for drinking on duty, especially not when the lieutenant was the one providing the booze. 

Ander pulled out his hidden flask and held it so Ralf could take a swig. Then he had one himself, and then offered another to Ralf, who accepted it gratefully. It helped dull the pain somewhat, and he didn't feel as cold after a few minutes either. Before too long, between the two of them, they'd emptied it. Ander had also brought some field rations, which he shared. It wasn't much - bread that tasted kind of like dry cardboard, meat smoked until it was hard as shoe leather - but it was enough that Ralf didn't feel like he was starving anymore. 

Judging by the reddish tint of the light that was able to make it a short distance into the cave, it was getting close to sunset. At this rate, Ralf guessed the others weren't going to make it back that night. It was getting colder, and he was starting to shiver - the warmth of the alcohol had worn off quickly. Even his teeth were chattering, which he thought was one of those things that only happened in stories. Psyra in winter was a lot warmer than Diablotin, but it still got chilly at night, and that wasn't even taking into account that he had been soaked in sweat from running, and then had been lying on the damp ground for ages. "I wish you'd brought a blanket," he managed to say between fits of shivering.

"Here," Ander said, seeing him shaking. "I'll keep you warm." He took off his jacket, and helped Ralf sit up so that he could remove his as well. 

"I'm gonna freeze with my jacket off," Ralf protested weakly, wincing as the thick fabric scraped over his injured hands.

"Nah, this'll be better," Ander said. He spread Ralf's jacket on the ground, and got him to lie back down on it, then lay down beside him, cuddling up to his side while being careful not to jostle his leg. Once they were settled, he spread his own jacket over the both of them. "Is this okay?" he asked, his breath soft against Ralf's skin. He smelled of cigarettes and whiskey and sweat, but it was better than what Ralf knew he probably smelled like.

"Yeah," Ralf mumbled. "'s good." It was strange, but he was in no position to complain about that - and besides, it did feel good. For one thing, it did help to warm him up, and he soon stopped shivering. But more than that, it felt safe, like Ander was there to protect him and wouldn't let anything bad happen. And more than that, Ralf realized - it felt unexpectedly arousing. He wasn't sure if that was intentional, what with the way Ander's arm was draped around him, gently stroking his chest, but it was certainly a side-effect.

As he was wondering whether he ought to say something (and if so, what should he say? "So, are you aware you're giving me a hard-on"?), Ander broke the silence instead. "Shitty day, huh?" he said, a bit awkwardly, as though he felt he needed to say something, anything at all.

"Yeah," Ralf agreed. "Sometimes I wonder why we're even here. Let 'em go if they wanna go so bad." He wondered if that counted as treason, but he didn't figure Ander was going to report him. 

"It's more complicated than that," Ander said. "I don't understand all the politics parts of it, but I know about money, and Psyra's got a lot of stuff the Empire needs. That's why the Emperor can't just say 'fuck 'em, they can be their own kingdom if they really want.'"

"Still think it's a fuckin' waste," Ralf muttered. "Troops are dying so everyone back home can have, what, lemons in their tea?"

"And oil in their machines," said Ander grimly. "Anyway, we're here, and we'll do our jobs, even if they're bullshit." Ralf had heard Ander badmouth particular officers before, when no one else was listening and he'd had a couple drinks, but not the entire war itself. He wasn't surprised, though.

"Got to meet you, though," he said, trying to lighten things up a little. "That part's not so bad."

"Yeah," Ander agreed. "After we get back - if we both make it back - I gotta hook you up with my friends. If you'd like that," he added as an afterthought.

Ralf knew that by 'friends', he meant the Rat mob. He probably should have been worried about all the additional implications of that statement, but actually it sounded pretty swell. "Yeah, that'd be good." 

He'd hoped that talking about other things would give his cock time to settle down and reconsider its choices, but that didn't seem to be happening. It was weird - normally he didn't go for guys. Maybe he still didn't. Maybe it was just how fucked-up the whole situation was right now that was making him want to find out if Ander felt the same. Maybe it was because he was hurting, and he wanted something, anything, to help him feel better.

He had no idea what the right move to make in this situation was. If it had been a girl, he might have tried to kiss her and see if she pushed him away or cuddled up closer, but it was Ander, and he didn't think he should kiss him. So instead he carefully took his hand and held it for a moment. Ander didn't disentangle their fingers, but his breath quickened slightly, and Ralf could smell a fresh nervousness on him. He slowly moved Ander's hand lower, drawing it to his belt, hoping that maybe from there Ander would take the hint, or else pull back.

He didn't pull back. Instead, he hooked his fingers under the waist of Ralf's pants, but didn't try to unfasten them. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Fuckin' yes I'm sure," Ralf said, and tried fumbling one-handed at his belt. Ander seemed to get the idea then, and helped with unfastening it, then unbuttoned his pants to shove them open. After a little more awkward fumbling, he had his hand around Ralf's cock, and that was about the best thing Ralf had felt all day. Maybe all week. Even though it was dark, he could tell Ander was looking at him, but he didn't turn and look back in case it got uncomfortable. He just lay back and tried to concentrate on how good it felt - and that was pretty damn good. There was no way, he decided, that Ander hadn't done this before. That was okay. Maybe it meant he'd have some kind of idea what you were supposed to say afterwards.

It was hard to keep from moving, pushing back into Ander's grip, but he knew something, somewhere would hurt like blazes if he tried anything more than the slightest rocking of his hips. Ander seemed willing to do most of the work, though. He didn't take his time over it, but jerked him off smoothly and efficiently. Ralf was breathing hard within a few minutes, but he didn't care right now about showing off how long he could hold out - he didn't have anything to prove, and he didn't think Ander would mind. Maybe he'd even be relieved if it was over sooner, Ralf thought, suddenly wondering whether he was going to be expected to do the same for Ander. Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Since it was a bridge that got him into this mess in the first place, the thought made him laugh, but it came out all breathy and hoarse. Ander's thumb grazed against the lip of his cock, sliding up and over his head, back and forth, and Ralf shot his load all over his commanding officer's fist. 

He buried his face into Ander's shoulder, breathing in his comforting scent, and tried not to think about how wrong and fucked up this was. Ander sort of nuzzled him, not quite kissing, but rubbing his face against the top of Ralf's head. He wiped his hand on the ground, and then on the leg of his pants. With all the other crap covering them both, no one would notice one other smudge.

"You wanna smoke?" he asked Ralf. Okay, so maybe he didn't know what to say either.

"Sure," he said hesitantly. "But, uh... I don't know if I can do that. Or return the favour for you. My hands are all scraped to hell..." It made an easy excuse anyway, until he could figure out whether he really wanted to or not. 

"It's okay," Ander said, sitting up long enough to get out his cigarette case and putting one to his lips so he could light it. "It would probably be a bad idea, for a lot of different reasons." He took a drag, then held it out so Ralf could do the same.

Ralf figured he meant because of the rank thing, and because they were off on their own where who knows who might stumble across them. But Ander wasn't hard, either, as far as he could tell - he'd have been able to feel it if he was, they were pressed together so close. He didn't know what that meant. Maybe Ander wasn't really into guys either - or just wasn't into him. Maybe the handjob had just been because he felt sorry for him, or just wanted him to be able to get some rest. Somehow thinking that he'd gotten a pity wank was worse than wondering what he'd do if Ander wanted more. "Look," he began, more crankily than he meant to, "you can just say if you're not interested."

Ander sighed, then took back the smoke for another drag. "It's complicated, okay? I like you - more'n I should. But if they find out about this, they'll court martial me for taking advantage of you when you were injured. I gave you whiskey and got you drunk..."

"I'm not drunk!"

"That's not what they'd say. You have to see how bad this would look, right?"

Ralf _did_ see, but that didn't really answer his questions. "If you feel like that, though, why'd you do it in the first place? It ain't like I made you." His dick was still hanging out, he realized, and shoved it back into his underwear rather than leaving it there to freeze, or worse, asking Ander to do it for him. He was already holding the smoke for him, that was bad enough. 

"You didn't," Ander agreed, "but I knew you wanted it. You said you were sure. I just wanted to... to help. It's my fault you're here..." 

"It was Cairvelle's orders."

"I told him to pick you," Ander admitted. "Told him you'd be good for a mission like this. When you didn't come back, I thought... if you were dead, it was because of me." He stubbed out the cigarette on the floor of the cave and rearranged the jacket to cover them again.

"That's fuckin' stupid," Ralf told him bluntly. "Maybe you missed the part where we're in a war, an' people die every day for stupid, pointless reasons. Flyn might be dead, but that's the fault of the bastard who shot him, not you. You're not gonna be much of an officer if you can't deal with that - and you can't go givin' handjobs to everyone you get almost killed. In fact, I'm pretty sure you don't, or word would've gotten around camp by now."

"What do you want me to say?" Ander snapped. "Why can't we just let it go?"

"If you're into me like that, I wanna know about it," Ralf told him. "If you aren't, then fine. We can pretend it never happened."

Ander fell silent at that. Ralf could feel how tense he was. "I don't know," he said eventually. "I wouldn't have done that for just anyone - even someone I felt guilty for putting into danger. It's not something I usually do."

"For guys?"

"For anyone." Ander hesitated. "If I try to explain... will you listen?"

"It ain't like I'm goin' anywhere," Ralf told him. "So spill."

"I told you it's complicated," Ander warned him, but pressed on anyway. "Sex is supposed to just happen, right? For most people, anyway. You wanna fuck someone, you find out if they wanna fuck you too, and then you do it."

"I guess," Ralf said. "It's not usually that simple."

"No, but... that's the basics. I mean, you know when you wanna fuck someone, right? Even if there's shit that gets in the way, you know that's what you want."

"Sure." Ralf wasn't quite sure where he was going with this.

"I never felt like that," Ander told him quietly. "There's been people I've liked... liked a lot. Maybe loved, I dunno. But I don't feel like the obvious next step if I like someone is to fuck them. I'm happy just being close together, like this," he said, burying his face for a moment in Ralf's hair. "Mostly they want more, though, an' eventually they ask - but when I've tried, it doesn't go so well." 

"Yeah? What happens when you try to fuck?" 

"Uh, it just doesn't work out," Ander muttered. "Like either I won't be able to get hard, or if I do, it'll take forever, and I won't come, and everyone just gets frustrated, including me. An' the whole process just feels... weird and uncomfortable. I can help other people get off, I'm better at that part."

Ralf gave a hint of a smirk. "I'd say so. But that sounds shitty."

"Yeah. For a while I thought maybe it was just that I hadn't found the right person yet. 'Cause that's what they say, right? That when you find the right person, you'll know, and everything'll go together just like it's supposed to. 'Cept it doesn't. Or maybe there's no such thing as the right person for me."

Ralf scoffed. "Ander, you're my age, right? Twenty-one?"

"Twenty-two," said Ander gloomily.

"It's kinda early to decide there's no right person for you in the whole world. Maybe you just need someone who doesn't mind if you don't wanna fuck them. An' who likes bein' close to you without expectin' something more."

"Yeah, well, it's easier said than done," Ander told him. "You wouldn't be here except that you're hurt and cold."

"Maybe," Ralf said. "But it ain't bad - this part of it, too, not just the helping hand. Might be I'd appreciate it more if it didn't hurt every time I moved."

"So it's not gonna make things weird between us?"

"Nah. If I don't turn you in for talking shit about the other officers, I'm sure not gonna snitch on you for a handjob." Ralf paused, considering further. "Does that mean this won't happen again?" He didn't know if he wanted it to or not - it was all pretty confusing - but he wanted to know how Ander felt.

"I don't know," Ander said wearily. "Can we figure that out later, when you're not injured and probably in shock or delirious or something? For now, you should probably shut up and try to get some sleep. I'll keep an eye out."

Ralf was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep, right up until the point where he nodded off despite the pain and the cold and the confusion. In the end, all he could say for sure was that Ander's arm was still curled around him, keeping him safe.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
